


Sacrificial Lamb

by Oryx_Gazella



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Cannibalism, Drugging, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gore, Kidnapping, No Sex, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oryx_Gazella/pseuds/Oryx_Gazella
Summary: Whats worse than getting taken prisoner by a gang of vicious bandits?  Let's find out!
Relationships: Troy Calypso/Reader, Tyreen Calypso/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Sacrificial Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> hey whats up gamers wow who wants some weird niche fic from some weird ace enby 
> 
> in addition to the tags, also contains: monster troy, being touched/tended to like a nice lil spa day, some pet stuff, some getting tied up, nonsexual nudity on the reader's part
> 
> e....enjoy?

It wasn’t the best job. Sure, things could be worse; things could _always_ be worse on Pandora, and one should count any second spent not prying their arm out of a skag’s mouth as a blessing. Still, sitting up in a poorly-lit office perched over an eridium mine was so _boring_.

Officially, you were supposed to be here to oversee outgoing shipments and supply purchases; making sure the weight matched what was on paper …not that you knew what to do when it _didn’t_ match. That wasn’t your problem, though; you reported it in the daily logs and it was someone else’s corporate war after that.

_“It’s time for our Flay of the Day!”_

The little screen beside you cheered out in Tyreen Calypso’s energetic voice; the COV-sponsored ads had slowly begun to take over the Echonet recently. They were always interesting, at least, certainly better than the Hyperion trash that was playing a few years ago. Even if you didn’t tune into their dedicated channel, you didn’t mind the interruption of the background noise of _Space Ghost Adventures._

You looked up from the spreadsheet to watch the short clip. Sometimes the Calypsos themselves would be on, usually if they had a recent raid or some ceremonial murders to show off. Those were always the most entertaining, seeing the terrible, awesome power of the two of them; they were cool. Tragically, today’s clip was user-submitted. Bandits killing bandits- this was Pandora what else was new?

You turned back to your work, listening to the comical dubbed-in sound effects and Tyreen’s gleeful mocking.

 _Ear-splitting_ warning sirens jolted you upright. You groaned, spinning around on your chair to the door. Someone had pulled the stupid fucking alarm again and-

Screaming. Yelling. _Gunshots_ that weren’t coming from the screen. Before you could even stand up to look out the window overlooking the mines, the door to your cramped office slammed open, and a burly, armor-covered bandit stomped toward you, gun drawn.

Your hands were in the air before you could even process it. Instead of the bullet between the eyes you were braced for, the guy was yelling at you to get the door to the safe; a second of hesitation to understand his words earned you a strike to the side of the head with the pistol. After that you were at the safe, punching in codes and letting the tech scan your biometrics to disable the locks. Shouting and gunfire was still audible from outside; you pressed your back to the wall of the little office as members of Pandora’s Official Welcome Committee filed in and emptied out the roomful of refined eridium and cash. The bandit seemingly in charge kept his weapon trained on you, making sure you didn’t try to call in backup or reach for some hidden gun of your own.

It was stupid to think you’d get out of this, in hindsight.

A rather embarrassing yelp escaped you when the human wall holding you at gunpoint reached out to grab your arm.

“Take this one, too, ‘n be careful not to bang em up too much. The soft ones are great arena-bait.” He grunted, handing you off to another bandit who yanked you effortlessly off your feet.

“ _Wait wait waitwaitwaitwait_ -“ You whined as you were dragged out of the room. 

Your begging fell on deaf ears; you looked at the mines as you were hauled off, seeing a few casualties on the ground, but not as many as you expected. The workers had probably fled when the raid started, the lucky bastards. Shackles were clamped onto your wrists before you were shoved roughly into the back of a technical with the rest of the loot, landing painfully on a brick of eridium.

The bumpy ride was lit by the soft purple glow of the alien mineral. You knew you probably shouldn’t be this close to it, people got sick from this didn’t they? On second thought, eridium probably wasn’t the biggest threat to your health right now, you could worry about that later. If you _got_ a ‘later’. 

It was far too soon that the technical stopped, and the harsh light of the sun was blinding you again when the doors were yanked open. You were unceremoniously slung over some marauder’s shoulder and carried over to a cage and locked in without a word. The cages were stacked three high, and you were on the second ‘story’. Not quite tall enough to stand up in, vertical bars, exposed on all sides, and generally as uncomfortable as possible; thankfully, the cages were in the shade, probably something they learned after finding some prisoners well-done in the Pandoran heat. 

“Hey!” You cried to the departing bandit “Wait! I’m still- …” Your wrists were still bound; he was already back to unloading the technical. With a huff, you slump against the bars. 

No one paid you much mind as they sorted through the spoils, which apparently included you. Maybe someone nice would buy you. Maybe one of them would have a change of heart and free you. Maybe a rakk would fly over and start talking to you.

You had almost dozed off when the familiar sound of chaos started again. Thugs rushed past you toward the gate of the camp, guns drawn and shouting to their fellow bandits to follow. You stood as much as the cage would allow, craning your neck around to get a look at what was happening; you heard a psycho screaming before you saw anything-

“ ** _FOR THE GLORY OF THE TWIN GODS_** ”

The Children of the Vault were here.

Everything slowed down. Gunfire had started in earnest at this point; this was a real fight, unlike the sweeping takeover of the mine. You’d never interacted with the cult in real life- you didn’t even know there was single a bandit clan on the planet still opposing them, nevermind that you’d get the shit luck to get kidnapped by one. You weren’t really sure which side to root for- the bandit maniacs or the _other_ bandit maniacs.

A stray bullet whistling past your ear snapped you out of it. You sprang into action; namely collapsing to the floor of the cage and pretending the crossfire had hit true. You played dead. 

The winning team was quickly apparent, with the COV’s terrible power quickly creeping through the camp. A mixture of morbid curiosity and shock let you keep your eyes open, watching the carnage. A feral cheer swelled among their ranks, but you didn’t dare sit up and look toward them to see why- not that it mattered, it was clear soon enough.

 _The Sirens_. 

Your heart jumped. Adrenaline rushed uselessly through your blood, catching a glimpse of the figures you had only ever seen executing heretics and raiders on screens. Tyreen was striding a path through the chaos, outstretching an arm and draining the life from those running away, and a few fools who tried to run toward her as well. She laughed, called out taunts and praised her followers. A cambot whirred behind her, swooping around to get the best angles of the dead and dying. Seeing her in person, physically there only a few meters from you, leeching bandits into frozen husks in seconds; it was suddenly too real. She was _real_ and she was _here_ she was _devastating_ and _she was_ _enjoying it_.

You were so transfixed by Tyreen you almost forgot to wonder; where was-

A screaming bandit slammed into the bars of your cage.

You couldn’t help but jolt- but he wasn’t facing you. Troy Calypso was on him, huge prosthetic hand gripping the man’s head and bashing it against the bars a second time, stunning him. Troy’s face shifted. You watched in primal fear as that arrogant _smirk_ grew into a _grin_ , and _kept going_. Gold glinted on inhuman fangs, ever more revealed as his cheek cracked open along the lines on his face, metal clips coming undone. His bottom lip split in the center, and all at once the rumors that Troy Calypso’s mods went further than just his arm were confirmed. 

The jagged show of teeth disappeared as he jerked his head forward, sinking his fangs deep into the poor bastard’s throat. You were frozen, lying there like a cornered rabbit, not even having the sense to shut your eyes. Some primitive part of your brain was telling you if you didn’t move a muscle, you’d be okay, that moving would only attract the predator’s attention. 

Troy’s eyes were closed, blood pulsing out over his face; his nose wrinkled as he tightened his grip with a _growl_ , something in the man’s throat giving way and letting those jaws slice deeper in. He was _inches_ from your face. The poor bastard made a sickening gargling noise, and then was _quiet_. For a few seconds, all you could hear was your own deafening heartbeat racing in your ears, the clamor of the vicious raid was so distant; unimportant. 

A wet, tearing, _popping_ sound brought everything back as Troy pulled away, taking the mouthful of flesh with him. His jaws flexed asymmetrically as he swallowed, letting the limp body collapse to the dirt, Troy’s face and chest coated in red. The siren let out a pleased sigh, expression hazy as a too-long tongue lapped over the grotesque skag-like maw, doing next to nothing in his effort to clean the blood from it.

Icy blue eyes, suddenly lucid and striking and _predatory_ snapped to yours. 

You stopped breathing. Troy’s jaw slid together, enough that you could make out the sharp grin. 

“ _Ohh_ , playing dead, huh?”

You could barely hear the question. 

He leaned in, nose almost touching the bars, eyes searing into you. 

“ _Cleveeer_.” He slurred; mouth still broken at the seams.

Troy winked at you, and turned to revel in the massacre with his twin. 

The rest of the fight passed by in a blur; all you could think about was Troy’s eyes, so blue against that mask of red, the blood falling from the edge of his jaw in slimy bright red strings and you could swear you could hear it patter on the ground, the way the alien tattoos flowing over his face gave off such enticing light-

Had you ever seen someone die so close before? Sure, distantly, but it was always _over there_. You had dried blood on your cheek.

You hadn’t even realized the bullets had stopped flying.

“ _That one_.”

“The dead one?”

“Yeah. Bring it to me.”

_No- nonononononono- no no Troy Calypso was **not** talking about you the heavy footsteps of a bandit fanatic were **not** getting closer he hadn’t just ordered you to be **brought to him** you’re **dead** you aren’t worth anyone’s time you’ve been dead this whole raid just **leave** just get out no no no **please** -_

You heard the lock crack under a sharp blow.

“Eww, what, you’re a scavenger now, Troy? I thought you liked them kicking?” Tyreen, her voice so clear when it wasn’t sent through a speaker, so close-

Your still-shackled hands were locked around the metal bars the moment the bandit took hold of your clothing, springing to life in a blind terror. You realized you were screaming, wailing for help you knew wasn’t out there; you were plucked from the cage, grip broken like it was nothing. Tyreen and Troy got nearer with every step as you were hauled over to them, struggling and begging. 

Tears were stinging your eyes by the time the fanatic stopped in front of the sirens; you curled up in his grip, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing yourself to be leeched or shot or _something_.

“Heh, y’see? Already all wrapped up and everything.” You cracked an eye open, heart in your throat. Troy jerked a thumb toward a massive war technical. “Put ‘em in the carrier, we’ll get shots at camp- better lighting n’ sound.”

Tyreen caught your eye as you passed by, head tilting and siren markings glowing softly; your blood ran cold when she gave you a deadly smirk. Tyreen smiling was the same level of bad news as Tyreen frowning; maybe _worse_. 

Still reeling, you were shoved into an empty barrel attached to the side of the technical. A metal grate had been fitted to the front on a hinge, and just like that you were in another cage. The barrel titled back, rolling you to the closed end and you had no choice but to sit in the cramped little container while they finished raiding the camp. 

You couldn’t see much more than the darkening sky on the drive to…wherever you were going. It felt like they had given the wheel to the most erratic psycho in the cult, and you were battered around the metal tube like a cocktail shaker. By the time the vehicle pulled in to some kind of garage, you were positive you were going to vomit or pass out or both. 

Heavy bootsteps approached, and the barrel was tilted 180 degrees while the door was flung open, dumping you roughly to the ground. You curled up, letting out a strained whine of pain. 

“Aaand here’s our new project! Wanted to get some ‘before’ shots of it.” Troy poked you with his boot, turning you over onto your back. A cambot flitted around you, zooming in and out. “Grabbed this _treat_ at the last heretic cleanse, you can see highlights of that party right here- “ He pointed up and to his right, where he’d presumably be editing in a link to the massacre you had just been a part of. 

On your back, wrists bound in front of you, bashed up and terrified, the sight of Troy Calypso towering over you made you _certain_ you were about to die. When he reached down with that brutal mechanical to grab your wrists you couldn’t help but shriek, trying your best to scrabble away from his touch.

Troy barked out a laugh, easily catching you and pulling you upright.

“Tch, aww, lookit this sad little stray.” His tone was mocking, amused. His normal hand wrapped around your jaw, firmly tilting your face this was and that for the camera. You got a quick view of your surroundings, a massive technical bay, surprisingly organized for the chaotic exterior of the cult. Devotees were scattered around, working on vehicles and otherwise giving Troy a wide, cautious radius.

“Yeah, this’ll be nice and fixed up. You guys won’t even recognize them by the end of this one.” He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, and you realized you had been bleeding. “Alright, that’s the end of introductions, I wanna get this thing started. See you in a bit!” 

The cambot gave a chirp, and its red recording light blinked off at Troy’s cue. Troy lifted his blood-smeared thumb to his mouth, and _licked_ it. 

“Hoo, _wow_.” Troy exhaled sharply. “Yeah, ah, get them goin’ for me, make it _good_.“ He motioned to two robed figures standing off to the side, seemingly waiting for this invitation. “Mmh, behave for them, hm sweetheart?” Troy gave you a flash of sharp teeth in a crooked smile.

Cultists guided you away in a fog. By this point you had been through way too much for the past however-many hours, and you obediently stumbled along for them. You just wanted to lie down and _wake up_. The noise and bustle of the compound began to thin the deeper into the building you were led, and your chaperons weren’t exactly talkative. This was all probably very secret and important, and maybe you’d be looking around in wonder at the magnificent décor if you could keep your eyes focused.

Heavy, ornate doors pulled open at the end of a particularly holy looking hall; a tiled room, decorated in mosaic patterns of red and blue, twisting snakes and wide starburst eyes, designs leading off along the floor into different rooms. The sound of water running came from somewhere, echoing off the tile. The room smelled sweet, vaguely floral but not overpoweringly so, and the air was heavy and humid. Now you _were_ staring around in wonder, too much to even notice the additional attendants had begun to undo the buttons and straps of your clothing. 

You tripped back, yanking your shackles from the hands of an acolyte you hadn’t seen.

“Calm yourself, Lamb.” A priest rasped; the first time you had heard one speak. “No harm will come to you here, you are protected under the power of the godking.”

“W-what does that _mean_?” Your voice cracked now that you had finally found it, and it struck you how thirsty you were.

A cultist took your hands once again, working at the mechanism on the shackles. “You are being readied for Troy Calypso, as He has requested. The cleansing process is not a painful one, simply relax.”

The lock jolted, and the heavy metal fell from your wrists with a thunk. Another fanatic carried it off, and you realized just how many figures were bustling around the room. You tensed up, jaw tightening as an attendant resumed undoing the many straps and laces of the clothing necessary for the desert planet. A lump formed in your throat as you fought the urge to tear yourself away.

The discomfort must’ve been radiating from you, because one of them spoke up. “You need not be so uneasy; we have no desires of our own, only to serve the Twin Gods. To act out from their wishes would be deserving of an unholy death.” Nodding and soft murmurs of agreement sounded out around the room. 

Literal and figurative armor was pulled from you, the warm air now more welcoming than stifling. A white towel was wrapped around your body, and you got the feeling it was for your own benefit. 

“Are you familiar with washing?” You’d feel offended if you were on any other planet; here it was a reasonable question.

“Uh, yes.” 

“Very well. Come along, Lamb.” 

The room you were led into was even more warm and misty than the antechamber, a slight fog hanging in the air from heated water. Opulent mosaics on the wall depicted the twin gods lounging in golden robes, light rays shining out from them. A stonework shower was built into a corner, and you were guided toward it, a washcloth and pitch-black bar of unscented soap waiting in the hands of a cultist. You hesitantly took the objects, and handed over your towel with some reluctance. 

A glass door provided some barrier between you and your audience, who thankfully really _did_ seem uninterested. Being exposed was not something you were used to on Pandora- or, at all really. Two silver knobs in front of you were self-explanatory, and you turned on the water-

 _Hot_ water. _God_ , how long had it been since you had a _hot shower_? You let out a gasp, shoulders slumping as you turned your face up to the stream. You opened your mouth, filling it with water and swishing it around, drinking some when you realized it tasted _clean_. It felt like pounds of dust was being rinsed off your skin, and you rubbed at your face, reveling in the stark difference between _this_ and standing under a freezing hose for a few minutes. 

The black bar of soap lathered nicely, and you set to work scrubbing off your battered and dry skin. Wisps of red swirled down the drain as you washed all the cuts and scrapes you had accumulated, as well as some blood that probably wasn’t even yours. You washed yourself less out of submission to the COV, and more because you just wanted to feel _human_ again.

Reluctantly, you eventually stepped out of the shower, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to keep a bunch of vicious cultists waiting too long. Instead of handing you a towel though, the robed acolyte took you toward a large clawfoot tub on the other side of the room. You’d only ever seen those in movies- the edges curved out gracefully, and the bath was already filled; petals of a flower you couldn’t identify floated in the purple-tinted water. The cultist held their hand out, offering you help getting in. 

Taking the hand, you dipped one foot in. The water was hot, on the edge of being _too_ hot, but not _quite_. You slipped into the bath, sinking into the enveloping heat; you felt like you could drift off. Fingers wove into your hair, making you jump-

“ _Shhhhh, relax_.” The cultist soothed. 

You obeyed, figuring it was a little late to start resisting now. Gently, they worked the tangles out of your wet hair, brought on mostly by your recent experience as a twice-over prisoner. More cultists appeared, pouring softly-scented liquids and powders into the bath, and you become aware of a not-unpleasant tingling feeling creeping over your skin. You let your eyes slide shut, listening to the quiet shuffle of the cult members echoing on the tile and the low, (admittedly pretty) hymns playing from somewhere.

A depression in the bath’s edge provided a perfect fit for you to rest your head, feeling the hands working through your hair hanging over the edge, massaging your scalp and working some kind of shampoo into it. A handheld sprayer rinsed the lather from your head, and you were released to fully recline in the tub. You let your ears dip under the water, outside sounds gone, leaving you alone with your heartbeat. Your body bounced ever so slightly in the water as you breathed, the bath large enough for you to float without touching the bottom or sides. You could fall asleep here.

In fact, you did. 

You had no idea how long you had been unconscious, only that someone was pulling you from the bath, hooking their hands under your arms and lifting you out. The water had cooled significantly, but it wasn’t yet room temperature. You mumbled softly.

“Apologies Lamb, but we cannot allow you to soak any longer.” A cultist was at your side, wrapping a fluffy, deep red towel around you the moment you were out of the bath. “The next step in the process awaits.”

Your legs felt heavy as you were led out of the bathing room and into another gorgeous space. When they guided you to a cushioned, slightly reclined chair, you didn’t question it. If they wanted to treat you to some weird spa day before…whatever happened, then fine. The small room was lit dimly, mostly with candles.

The dirt was scrubbed from under your nails, hands given a light massage once clean. 

“Eat, Lamb.” You opened your eyes to a cultist offering you some kind of food. They held the bite out to you from a fork, but didn’t object to you taking the plate yourself. 

You had forgotten how hungry you were, after being kept for however many hours in the sun and rattled around in two separate bandit vehicles. The food was… _some_ kind of meat, you’d seen more suspicious. You’d seen _less_ suspicious too, but it smelled good and wasn’t burned to charcoal; it actually seemed _seasoned_ and _prepared_ , imagine that.

Eating with so many eyes on you would normally have made you uncomfortable, but you were too starved to care. Almost immediately, a priest was there with another plate, this one carrying an assortment of fruits; some you had never seen before. Normally you had to fight off scurvy with vitamin tablets, fruit was a rare luxury here, even when it was in season. The COV must’ve had it imported in from off-planet…

You picked out a few grapes, not yet brave enough to try one of the glowy things. A reddish tinted drink was given to you in a wine glass; you half expected some alcoholic burn, but it was cool and sweet and made your mouth feel a little fuzzy instead. Hands rubbed at your shoulders, slowly easing the knots out of your muscles, a cultist occasionally encouraging you to try another bit of fruit. Eventually you were taken to a cushioned table and made to lie down, the towel removed and replaced with a warm blanket laid across you. 

Years-worth of aches and soreness was slowly worked out of your back, spine cracking in a satisfying way every so often. Oils and lotions were rubbed into your skin, your joints being stretched gently by several hands at once, all the while you felt more and more dazed. 

After a soothing lifetime of being massaged and tended to, you were pulled to your feet. You weren’t even concerned with being exposed anymore, and they led you back out into the main lobby of the area where an especially-holy-looking acolyte stood with a drape of shimmery fabric laid across her arms. A lower-ranked cultist stood holding a smoking container of incense, and they approached you, mumbling some prayer you couldn’t pay attention to if you tried. You obliged them, allowing the priest to pull the white shawl over your body.

Once the priest had finished muttering the praises and blessings or whatever she was doing, a particularly large cultist came forward and simply picked you up. You limply allowed it, now just along for whatever ride they decided to take you on. You were carried down some halls; you couldn’t really pay attention to the surroundings anymore. Eventually, you reached your destination, and they laid you out on an altar in the center of a temple-like room. After a few more prayers and responses from your entourage, the cultists all left you, heavy doors creaking shut and leaving you in silence.

You felt distant, lying there on the chilly gilded altar. No doubt due to the strange drugs that had been soaked and rubbed and fed to you, but…it felt _okay_. You couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed, this peaceful. The now empty room was beautiful from what you could see, all stained glass and candles and regal draped fabric, the spicy scent of incense hanging in the air. The silky robe the attendants had wrapped you in feeling so soft on your skin, yet another a luxury you’d never experienced before.

You couldn’t even find the care to pick up your head when you heard the huge doors open. A cambot whirred into view, and you could hear Troy before you saw him.

“Leeet’s see the finished product!” The siren came into view, towering over you, appraising his servants’ work. “Ooh, god _damn_ would you look at that.” His fingertips grazed over your jaw, and you felt compelled to tilt your head to the side, letting him continue down the side of your throat. “Aww, see? So obedient. All that fear just-” he gestured with his mech hand, as if waving something away. “-gone. So committed to your _blessed purpose_ now.”

Troy leaned down, nudging his face under your chin, close enough that the tip of his nose ghosted over your skin. You shivered a little at the touch, but had no instinct to recoil; he inhaled deeply, exhaling through parted lips. A rumbling noise, something between a purr and a growl, buzzed ever so softly from his throat. 

“Ah-“ He stood straight again, running a hand through his hair and visibly unfocused. “Uh- heh, right, hang on I gotta get some shots for the unpaid version.” 

The cambot bobbed back around, and you shifted slightly, feeling almost _sleepy_ under the gaze of this apex predator and his billions of followers.

Soon enough, it seemed Troy had gotten the shots he needed, and moved in again. His hand, warm where the glowing siren tattoos snaked over it, slid the robe from your shoulder. Troy nestled his head up to the exposed skin, and you gasped a little when the wet heat of his tongue slid over your collarbone.

Troy gripped your sides, and _bit_.

You twitched at his sharpened teeth sinking into your shoulder, but couldn’t muster more than that. 

A deep groan rumbled from the siren’s chest, his jaw tightening on you; curiously, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Some pinching and a deal of pressure were there, but the drugs you were full of seemed to be keeping you nicely distant from your nervous system. You could feel Troy’s jaw moving as he took blood, and he pulled away with a huff before licking over the wound.

“Gh, f- _fuck_ -“ Troy’s face split open as he spit out the word. 

Troy was on the altar, hauling himself up to straddle you in one easy motion. He looked down at you, arms caging you in on either side of your body; pupils blown huge, monstrous jaws hanging open. All at once his head jerked downward, and he snapped his teeth _into_ your torso with a wet _cracking_ noise.

You body jumped a little at the impact, and you _felt_ the crunch of bone vibrate through your chest. Troy pulled back, jagged teeth raking through your flesh easily, and you could see broken shards of white in the gore he held between his fangs. He snapped his jaws, getting a better grip on the meat to swallow it, barely a second passing before he was burying his face back in your ribs. Troy ripped and tore like a feral animal, panting for breath between mouthfuls of you; all the while you could do nothing but lay there, impassive; _obedient_.

“ _Weeeell_ look who’s having a good time! Hope you Elpis-tier followers are enjoying my brother chowing down on this snackrifice we’ve got here today!” _Tyreen_. You tilted your head to the side, vision bouncing a little as Troy _ate_. She was swaying in, speaking to the cambot that had pulled out to get a larger shot of her apparently-scripted entrance. “Sometimes, you just want a break from the howls of agony- hard to believe _, I know_! But who doesn’t love options! And _really_ , who can argue with a sweet little offering who knows how to _give their flesh_ so well? I mean, just look at that!”

Tyreen strolled closer, giving you a smile; your muddled brain couldn’t tell if it was soft or mocking. She put her hands on the altar, and Troy let out a snarl from somewhere inside your chest.

“How’re you doin, sweetie?” She cooed, leaning over your face and ignoring her twin’s predatory growl. “ _Fuck_ you smell good. Cut that last bit out Troy.” 

He gave an agreeing mutter in response, before pulling up, exhaling sharply.

“Ahh _god_ Ty can you _f-feel_ how much energy they’re gi-giving off?” His speech was almost incomprehensibly slurred between the split jaws and the blood and muscle dripping from his mouth. 

“Mhh, _yeah_. They’re from that stripped eridium mine, right?” You could feel Tyreen probing at the deep bite in your shoulder.

You mumbled softly, unable to form words. She raised her fingertips to her mouth to lick your blood from them.

Troy’s too-long tongue slid over his left jaw, long enough to wrap around the edge. He groaned quietly, a strange purring vibration to the sound. “They gotta be.” He dipped back down, unable to keep his fangs off you for too long.

Tyreen was leaning in too, eyes drifting shut. Her lips made contact with the blood still pulsing from your shoulder in a soft kiss, before she too was running her tongue over your skin. Her fingertips met your chin, tilting your head to the side to give her some room. Teeth, less sharpened than her brother’s but still capable of breaking skin, bit into an untouched spot with a satisfied hum.

“Hhhg, ffuckin get your own.” Troy’s voice was muffled, barely lifting his head from your body. 

She didn’t respond, but they both seemed content to stop bickering and lose themselves in your blood. You were drifting, detached. It wasn’t how you thought you were going to end up dying, but all things considered, it could be a lot worse. At least you got preened and pampered before being torn apart by some monstrous sirens. 

The distinct pressure and sound of another rib crunching away brought you out of your musings. It struck you how far up he was; how many bones he had already snapped through. You mustered enough strength to open your eyes and look down at the surreal sight of Troy, half his face buried in your cracked open chest.

His eyes, thin rings of pale blue around dilated pupils, met yours. He lifted himself, blood hanging in strings between his face and your torso. 

Troy spoke. You couldn’t hear a word of it. Just a muted drone of sound as your vision wavered in and out of focus. You were so tired. He reached to your face, running a hand over your cheek. He was so _warm_. You couldn’t help but let your head flop to the side, into his touch.

Tyreen- you had just about forgotten she was there until she pulled away from you, feeling like she had always meant to be at your throat, draining the life from you so gently. She said something. Even so close to your ear, you couldn’t understand the deadly-sweet words.

You let your eyes close. You let go.

* * *

Awake. You were _awake_. You shouldn’t be _awake_.

You were lying down, on a…a _bed_. You shifted around, shocked to find all your limbs attached and no gaping hole in your abdomen. 

“ _Ha_! Bet you’re surprised to be alive! I try to keep the healing stuff on the down-low, don’t really want the whole fam asking me for _favors_.” Tyreen’s voice made you bolt upright. Something around your neck _jingled_.

You reached up, grabbing at the source of the noise-

“You like it? Troy’s idea, thought it was cute.” A little bell was hanging from the _collar_ around your throat.

You brought your eyes up to Tyreen, almost scared to look directly at her. You’d heard about how she liked to toy with people, how volatile she could be, and it felt like you were being _tricked_ right now.

“You, uh, you aren’t gonna… _kill_ me?” You said something to her you _spoke_ to this godlike siren-

Tyreen grinned. She reached out to you, tattoos flaring light, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation of being drained to a crystalline husk in a second. Instead, _Tyreen Calypso booped your nose._

“You taste too _way_ good to only have once, _pet_.”


End file.
